All language subtitles for La Passion De Dodin Bouffant

(Uplifting classical music)

(Birds chirping)

(Wind blowing)

(Music rises, then stops)

(Birds singing)

(Distant mooing)

(Cockerel crowing in distance)

(Mooing)

(Church bell ringing in distance)

(Bird cawing)

Hello, Violette.

—Hello, sir.
—Where's Eugénie?

She's in the garden.
She's picking vegetables with Louis.

Is my bath ready?

Just one more pot of hot water.

Thank you.

(Dog barking outside)

Thank you.

(Sizzling)

(Sniffles)

(Exhales)

Violette.

Thank you.

(Dodin) Mm.

Eugénie, it's delicious.

Who are you, young lady?

This is Pauline, my niece.
I'm looking after her today.

Have a seat, then.

Thank you, sir.

I advise you to eat it with a spoon.
It makes all the difference.

(Sizzling)

Violette, if you're done,
can you come here?

—I'm done.
—You can take over. Thank you.

The loin of veal, please.

(Dodin) All right.

Thank you.

When you're done,
you can get the crayfish.

The water's boiling.

Look, we'll add the fish.

Want to help me?

That's good.

Go on.

Put that over there.

I'll prepare the quenelles.

Can I have the cream?

(Dodin) Thank you.

(Pigeon cooing outside)

(Sizzling)

It's time to take out the veal,
please.

(Eugénie) The vegetables, Violette.

Thank you.

The rooster comb.

Violette, please strain the butter.

Yes, sir.

(Eugénie) Thank you.

(Exhales deeply)

Pauline, come here.

Smell this.

—Smell good?
—Yes.

Taste it.

(Bubbling)

Remember the taste.

You'll compare
once it's been clarified.

(Peacock squawking)

(Plates scraping
and clinking upstairs)

You recognise this sauce?

No.

Can you name the ingredients?

Short ribs.

Smoked bacon.

Red bell peppers.

Mushrooms.

Fennel.

Tomatoes.

Oranges.

Wine.

Yes, flamed.

Parsley. Thyme.

Bay leaf.

Cumin.

Juniper berry.

Clove.

Carry on.

That's all, I think.

There's also paprika and cognac.

And to soften the wine's acidity,
we add currant jelly.

There you go.

A Bourguignotte sauce.

Bravo.

Astonishing girl.

Yes.

(Eugénie) Here, Violette.

The wine, please.

(Eugénie) Careful.

(Church bell rings)

You dip the ladle.

Then you drizzle…

… the stock over the egg white…

… to filter the scum.

That's how you obtain
a nice, clear broth.

Go ahead.

(Dodin) Taste.

Is it different,
now that it's clarified?

Yes. It's not as strong.

What you lose in taste
you gain in colour.

Before, the flavour
was stronger and coarser.

Now it's more subtle.

I say we should
wait a while longer for him.

After all,
Rabaz did a good deed today

by helping a young mother
give birth.

—What do you say, Magot?
—Mm.

And you, Beaubois?

I agree with you, Grimaud.

Man is the only animal
that drinks without thirst.

Wine is the intellectual side
of a meal.

Meat and vegetables,
the material side.

Worse than hunger
is not knowing when you'll eat.

(Magot) Here's Rabaz.

Excuse me, dear friends,
I had to go home and change.

A lovely little girl was born today.

We could barely resist
tasting the consommé.

(Rabaz) After her big effort,
the newborn greedily threw herself

at her mother's breast
for her first meal.

It whet my appetite.

(Inhales deeply)

This consommé is so gentle.

(Footsteps approaching)

Here.

—(Guest) Oh.
—(Chuckling)

(Crust crunching)

What perfect expression.

(Dodin) Puligny—Montrachet,
my friend.

(Beaubois) Thank you.

(Bird cackling outside)

(Clank)

(Quick breathing)

Are you unwell, Eugénie?

(Breathy) I… I'm fine, I…

I'll be fine.

(Footsteps approaching)

We owe Antonin Carême
the vol—au—vent.

They say he invented it by snatching
a botched puff pastry from the oven.

Do you believe that story?

We're not historians.

But we like a good story,
even if untrue.

(Beaubois)
What an extraordinary fate.

The child was abandoned
on the street at age eight.

Since his death,
kings have been dethroned,

but Carême,
the genius king of gastronomy,

still stands.

No rival's glory
has cast a shadow over his.

When I think of Carême,
I see a frail child carrying a bundle,

abandoned in Paris
at the height of the Revolution.

Weeping,
he hears his father tell him

not to come home,
for there's not enough food

for him and his 14 siblings.

It's incredible,
he never saw his family again,

even though
he never left Paris after that.

(Birds chirping)

(Eugénie) Wait, do it slowly.

I'll start over.

Was the vol—au—vent good?

—It's the best thing I ever ate.
—Ah.

Finish your food.

(Guest) Mm.

(Guest 2) Mm.

(Guest 3) Mm.

Do you like it?

Yes.

The fish flesh is very gentle.

(Eugénie) Hm.

Clos—Vougeot!

Well done, Rabaz.

(Magot) Excellent.

(Grimaud) Good old Rabaz.

(Exhales)

(Grunts)

Mm.

God created water,
but man created wine.

Mm! It's fabulous.

(Grimaud) I have a nice story
about Clos—Vougeot for you.

In 1364, Pope Urban V

wanted to leave Avignon
and return to Rome with his court.

And… Oh, my God.

(Dodin) I agree, Grimaud,
all conversation must cease

when a truffled turkey appears.

But this is merely veal loin
with braised lettuce.

(Grimaud) Very well.
Petrarch tells us that the cardinals

had no desire to leave Avignon.

They imagined a wretched life
far from their Burgundy wines.

Resistance was so great

the pope threatened to excommunicate
the Abbot of Cîteaux Abbey,

Jean de Bussières,

should he not cease
to supply Avignon with Clos—Vougeot.

Upon the death of Urban V,

his successor, Pope Gregory XI,

immediately annulled
the threat of excommunication

so that his court might enjoy
Clos—Vougeot again.

(Guest) Mmm.

(Swifts chirping outside)

Violette.

Here.

(Exhales)

(Grimaud) Always impressive.

(Rabaz) Magnificent.

(Beaubois) There's ice cream inside.

(Grimaud) It's a miracle.

(Rabaz) No, not a miracle,

merely a scientific reaction.

(Rabaz) Beaten egg whites
make an excellent insulator.

—Truly?
—(Rabaz) The ice cream remains frozen.

(Grimaud) Really? I didn't know that.

(Rabaz) An American physicist
discovered this phenomenon,

which gave Balzac
the idea to create the dessert.

(Magot) I see.

Balzac,
the head chef at the Grand Hotel.

—Oh, yes.
—(Grimaud) He's the one who created…

(Rabaz) Absolutely.
(Grimaud) What's it called again?

(Rabaz) Baked Alaska.

(Grimaud) OK.

(Chatter)

(Grimaud) So, in the end,
it's a scientific dessert.

(Rabaz, chuckling) Sort of.

(Birds chirping outside)

(Fire crackling)

What's it called?

Baked Alaska.

Why Alaska?

I don't know.

(Grimaud) Eugénie!

Eugénie!

Thank you.

—It was utterly exquisite.
—Thank you.

We miss you in the dining room.

Yes, why don't you ever eat with us?

Dodin, can't you do something
to make Eugénie join us?

That's up to Eugénie.

It's simply not possible.

Why not? It must be.

Your presence
would be greatly appreciated.

To do… To do things right,
I need to be here.

In the kitchen.

I just…

I converse with you in the dining room
through what you eat.

What more can I say?

And there's nothing you eat
that I don't eat too.

The turbot, for example.

I tasted it before you
when it was delivered this morning. I…

I…

I inhaled its scent,

I turned it, stroked it
every moment it was in this kitchen.

I know by heart its colour,

texture and even taste.

Without having taken a bite.

So, this turbot did not give you
more than I received.

Now, gentlemen, off to the salon.

Violette will serve liqueurs.

You're an artist. Thank you.

(Indistinct quiet chatter)

(Whispering) Violette.

(Exhales)

They say you're an artist.
Is it true?

They talk nonsense.

They speak the truth.

He… was an artist.

Who is he?

Antonin Carême.

Why are their hats different?

(Eugénie) The chef's hat
in Carême's day

evoked a man getting out of bed.

You see? That's why he changed it.

He slipped a cardboard disc inside.

This drawing by him shows how to wear it,
tilted to one side.

What is it?

How long have you cooked
at the manor?

Oh, well…

I've been here… for years.

(Soft chuckle)

—Mr Dodin taught you to cook?
—No.

I cooked long before I met him.

Then who taught you?

My parents.
My father was a pastry chef in Paris.

A famous one too.

But it was mainly my mother.

He wasn't very patient.

Where are they now?

They died long ago.

What did you feel
at your first bite of Baked Alaska?

(Eugénie chuckles)

—I almost cried.
—Why?

I don't know.

Have you ever cried
when you ate something?

No.

What do you think happened?

I don't know.

Listen to this.

Auguste Escoffier
and a certain César Ritz

are going to open a so—called "palace"
in Monte Carlo.

The first hotel of its kind

to offer its clientele
haute cuisine.

But won't Escoffier lose his soul
in such a big place?

To the contrary.

It's perfect
for a man like Escoffier.

We live with the legacy of Carême.

With Escoffier,
we dream of the future.

To think he's only 38 years old.

Merely 13 years

separate Antonin Carême's death
and the birth of Escoffier.

Gentlemen.

Sir.

My master the Prince of Eurasia

sent me to invite you
to dine at his table with your suite.

Excuse me,
but to whom do you speak?

There are five men in this room.

I wish to address Mr Dodin,

the Napoleon of culinary arts.

—How do you know it's me?
—It's not you?

Yes.

Please, carry on.

Forgive me.

As I was saying,

my master, the Prince of Eurasia,
who is travelling through,

invites you
to dine at his table with your suite.

For the occasion,
His Highness sent for his master chef.

He will assist the chef specially hired
by the hotel at his request

to serve you.

(Whispering) He'll never accept.

(Sighs)

Please tell…

… His Highness…

… that I accept his invitation.

Thank him warmly.

These four gentlemen are my suite.

I thank you
in the name of the prince.

An official invitation
will be sent tomorrow.

Gentlemen,
I wish you a pleasant evening.

The Napoleon…

(All laughing)

We were certain you'd refuse.

—Mm.
—(Door closes)

(Sighs)

I couldn't refuse.

Several days ago,
I was begged to accept it.

(Frog croaking)

(Insects chirping)

(Dodin grunts softly)

What do you think of Pauline?
The girl has something.

I agree, she obviously
has a gift for culinary arts.

When she tasted the Baked Alaska,

I thought she would cry.

One can have perfect pitch
at age three,

at age five decipher a score

seen for the first time,
like Mozart.

One cannot be a gourmet before 40.

(Eugénie) It's a pity not to develop a gift
that our fellow gourmets could enjoy.

Hm?

I see it's important to you.

And not to you?

Apparently less than for you.

(Sighs deeply)

Tomorrow, I'll take Pauline home
and talk to her parents.

(Eugénie) Hm.

Thank you.

(Match sizzling)

But if you please,
I'd like to speak to her parents.

(Dodin) As you like.

(Eugénie) I see her inventing
an exceptional dish several years from now.

Oh. The discovery of a new dish…

… brings more joy to humanity
than the discovery of a new star.

Eugénie.

May I knock at your door tonight?

Since when do you ask beforehand?

Knock.

You'll see if it's open or not.

If I ask,
it's to ensure it's not locked.

You'll see.

(Dodin sighs deeply)

I ask you once again.

—Marry me.
—Mm!

How many times will you ask me?

Once married, I doubt
I'd have the right to lock my door.

We spend more time together
than many spouses.

We study texts and recipes,
make them and eat them.

And your wit makes me laugh.

So, tell me…

… aren't we happy like this?

(Dodin, inhaling) Mm.

There is much witticism
against marriage.

You might like this one.

"Marriage is a dinner
that begins with dessert."

(Eugénie) Ah!

(Both laugh)

(Eugénie) How dreadful.

The first couple, Adam and Eve,
started with dessert.

(Eugénie) Mm.

It's true, everything started
with something they ate.

(Insects chirping)

(Dodin sniffles)

So, the answer is no.

(Eugénie laughs)

(Water trickling)

(Soft chuckle)

(Woodpecker pecking)

Next Friday, I'd like to come
to your farm to buy a few calves.

(Dodin) Sure.

Friday you have your weekly meeting
with your banker.

As your notary,
I'll take the opportunity to give him

several deeds to put in his safe.

(Dodin) Very well.

For the calves, I'll tell Antonin.
He'll meet you in the pen.

(Grimaud) I'd like to see them too.

(Rabaz) Unless something comes up,
I'll be there too.

(Mother) Ah!

Hello, sweetheart.

—(Pauline) Hello.
—Hello.

—You OK?
—(Pauline) Yes.

—Hello, how are you?
—Thank you for bringing her home.

—Oh, it was my pleasure.
—Very kind.

Hello. Hello.

—How are you?
—Very well.

Only six?

(Chuckle)

I only have one small pan.
We'll cook them in batches.

Ortolans.
Eugénie buys them at the market.

But they're never as good as here.

Augustin gorges them
with millet seed

until they're tender little balls.

He plucks them without gutting them.
And voilà.

(Augustin) They're almost done.

With your permission,
I'd like to train Pauline.

Mr Dodin agrees. She has the qualities
to become an exceptional cook.

(Dog yapping)

—Exceptional.
—(Father) It's a great honour.

—(Mother) She's still a child.
—It's the best age to learn.

Pauline told me
about your vegetable patch.

It's a marvel.

(Distant mooing)

Take the time to think.
My kitchen door will always be open.

—(Pauline) Come!
—What's that?

A copper antenna crowned with zinc.

We planted them all over.

Oh.

(Father) They're placed
20 feet apart.

(Eugénie) Very surprising.

What are they for?

They create
an electric current in the ground.

It makes the plants healthier
and more robust,

and our crop is better.

—Really?
—(Father) Yes.

The first year we experimented
on half of the garden.

The other half had no antennas.

The difference was striking.

(Men, exhaling) Ah…

Thank you.

Thank you, Augustin.

Thank you.

(Eating and sniffing)

—Mm.
—Ooh.

—Oh.
—Ooh.

(Loud exhale)

—Augustin.
—Thank you.

—Thank you and to the next round.
—I'll get started.

Have you seen Eugénie?

She's been in her room
since she took Pauline home.

—Oh. There you are.
—Are you all right?

Yes.

I heard you come in.

I was about to make your dinner.

(Dodin) But…

How were the ortolans?

Violette said
you stayed in your room.

It's nothing.

What about Pauline's parents?

It went well.

They agreed to her apprenticeship?

No. Um…

They didn't agree or disagree.

—They want to think.
—Oh.

Eugénie, I'm worried.

Wouldn't it be wiser
for Dr Rabaz to come check you?

No, he'd be wasting his time.

Master,
with no pretentiousness intended,

my head chef shall read the modest meal
he has the honour of serving.

Hearing a menu is always a pleasure.

One perceives
the construction of the meal

and the chef's intent.

Please read.

The menu is comprised
of three services.

For the first,
the soups are pigeon bisque,

quail in coulis à la Reine, shrimp.

Lastly, stuffed soles.

For the centre dish, a yearling boar

with, at either end,
a royal pâté and a pheasant pie

with summer truffles.

Hors d'oeuvres:

spitted partridges with herbs
and essence of ham,

poupetin of turtledoves,
and stuffed pike.

The main entrées:

two stuffed chickens in cream
and young rabbits à la Saingaraz.

The wines for this first course.

After the soup: dry sherry.

For the white wine:

Carbonnieux, Langon,
Meursault and Pouilly.

For the red:
Chainette, Thorins and Saint Estèphe.

Whilst the second service
is being laid,

Cyprus Malvoisie
and Madeira will be served.

The second course
will have two entrées

before the four roast dishes:

lottes à la vestale
from the Lake of Geneva

and torrent trout à la chartreuse.

The roasts will be
turkey à la daube,

ribs of beef hollandaise,

breast of veal au pontife

with sweetbreads in similar fashion

and quenelles from the same cut.

Lastly, thinly sliced
stuffed leg of mutton.

There will be three sauces:

piquante,
poor man's sauce and sky blue.

And three salads:
herbs, oranges and olives.

The side—dishes
to accompany the roasts and salads…

The prince's generosity
turned into an ordeal.

The meal lasted over eight hours.

The prince believes that a gourmet
should fear no menu,

even if the meal
lasts one day and one night.

At the start of the third service,

I thought my stomach would fail me.

But my discomfort ended

and I surprisingly
carried through to the end.

What did Dodin think?

I haven't had a chance
to talk to him.

In short,
Dodin saw the prince's meal

as a thick—set construction.

Abundant and rich,
but no light or clarity.

No air, no logic, no line.

Custom, but no rules.
A parade, but no organisation.

A meal marked with flaws
in the succession

of flavours and textures.

What about the desserts?

(Magot) The almond pastries,

which demand such attention,
were served after the ices,

which paralyse and lull the senses,

and before the cheeses,

also iced.

Served this way,
they leave a mediocre aftertaste.

More precisely, he said:

"An aftertaste
of common creamed butter."

That was it.

Was anything irreproachable?

The wines.

Though their order was not.

(Magot) The foods.

The ratafias
and the eaux—de—vie too.

(Grimaud) Mm.

When he got home yesterday,
did he dine before retiring?

He didn't want to sleep
on the memory of the prince's meal.

I simply served him

a clear soup with a poached egg
and wisps of tarragon,

turkey breast in wine jelly
and a fricassee of asparagus tips.

A few biscuits
with a glass of Grenache,

a large draught of honeyed lime—tea

and he went to bed.

What is he doing now?

He's studying.

A menu.

—To invite the prince?
—Yes.

Eugénie, we would be grateful
if you could tell us

what he plans to serve the prince
as soon as you know.

Would you?

Yes, of course.

(Crockery clanging)

(Grimaud grunts)

Help yourself.

(Grimaud sighs)

(Swifts chirping outside)

(Grimaud) Mm.
(Eugénie) Hm?

(Bird cawing)

(Mooing)

Hello, Augustin.

(Augustin) Hello, Eugénie.

(Mooing)

It will be a pot—au—feu.

Are you sure?

—A pot—au—feu?
—Yes.

He will serve the prince
boiled beef and vegetables.

That's it.

One selects a cut of fresh beef,

bled as little as possible.

It must be a thick cut.

Rump is an excellent choice

due to its balance
of lean meat and fat.

The meat is not rinsed,
to keep its juices.

After removing the bones,

the meat is tied up
so that it does not fall apart,

then placed in a pot
with one pint of water per pound of meat.

Incomprehensible.

Eugénie?

Eugénie?

(Sighs)

(Indistinct chatter in distance)

My friends!

My friends. Have you seen Eugénie?

She was here earlier, but she left.

Beaubois, did you see her
when you accompanied our banker?

No.

(Mooing)

(Birds cawing)

(Pigeons cooing)

(Men laughing and chatting)

Rabaz!

—Eugénie, what's wrong?
—(Mumbles)

—Are you all right?
—Yes.

I fell asleep.

(Running footsteps)

—Don't move. Don't move.
—Huh?

—What's wrong?
—(Mumbles)

—What happened?
—I'm fine.

—Eugénie?
—I don't know.

I think I fell asleep.

—Fell asleep?
—Yes.

Oh. Everyone's here.

(Dodin) Yes, come with us.

Careful.

I'll help you.

Lean on me.

Nothing serious.

But you did not inherit good health
from your ancestors.

I'll bring you
some medication later.

—How do you feel?
—Perfectly fine.

You won't keep me in bed.

You need rest.

Be reasonable and stay in bed.

I am known to have
a certain competence in my field,

and I'm a friend.

Trust me, would you?

OK.

Thank you.

Get some rest.

I'll walk the good doctor out
and be right back.

Your broth is delicious.

I might develop a taste
for being waited on.

Any time you like.

It's my pleasure.

You have better things to do.
Violette can cook for me.

(Laughing) Violette.

(Eugénie) Mm.

She can barely boil water.

Despite your smile, you seem…

… serious.

Even grave.

—Do I?
—Mm.

The wit I love so much is gone.

What's wrong?

When I…

When I found you in the garden…

… I thought…

… I thought I would…

… die myself.

I feel full of life.

I'm so happy.

And grateful.

I would love some more of your broth

unless it's against
the good doctor's recommendations.

Of course.

Of course.

You can send an invitation to the prince
whenever you like.

I'm well and ready.

Unless you aren't?

Uh…

I have a better idea.

(Sizzling)

Violette.

Thank you.

(Swifts chirping outside)

(Sizzling)

(Fire crackling)

Remember…

… last year, I purchased three bottles
in a London auction.

An 1837
Krug Clos d'Ambonnay champagne.

It spent 50 years
at the bottom of the ocean

when the boat transporting
2,000 bottles to America was shipwrecked.

Everything is still here.

Thank you.

Thank you.

May I watch you eat?

(Chuckling) If you want.

(Eugénie) Mm.

Mm.

An 11th—century Chinese poet

obeyed one rule his entire life.

He worked one year,

then devoted
the entire next year to his wife.

I should have followed his example.

In what you just said…

… several words pose a problem.

For example,
you're neither a poet nor Chinese.

I'm not a poet.

The Napoleon of gastronomy,

the prince, the king…

(Eugénie laughs)

And many other names, but not poet.

Let's say… not yet.

(Eugénie) Mm.

And there was the word "wife."

(Fire crackling)

I'm working on that.

I'll be back.

The teeth…

Yes, the teeth…

… break up the food.

Next, the glands of all species…

… moisten it inside the mouth.

The tongue mixes the food
by moving it around…

… then presses it
against the palate…

… to release the juices

and savour the flavour.

The food is brought
to the centre of the mouth,

after which… the tongue
rests against the lower jaw.

It rises in the middle,

forming a slope at its base,

which draws the food
to the back of the mouth.

There, the pharynx takes over
and contracts in turn.

It transports the food
to the oesophagus,

whose peristaltic movement
carries it to the stomach.

But with you, Eugénie,

this activity…

—… is absolutely beautiful.
—(Eugénie laughs)

(Inhales deeply)

(Panting)

(Panting)

(Blowing)

Wonderful.

Be very careful to present the plate

facing Eugénie, like this.

Yes, sir.

You can go now.

(Eugénie chuckles)

Careful, the plate
must be facing a certain way.

Yes, I know.

(Clink)

(Gasps)

(Chuckles softly)

(Chuckles)

(Door creaking)

(Dodin sighs)

(Sighing deeply)

(Birds chirping)

(Kids shouting playfully)

(People laughing)

(Indistinct chatter)

Friends!

Dear friends!

Eugénie and I

have decided
to wed in our autumn years.

(Friend) Not autumn!

Don't you dare protest with Pauline!

Reassure me,
you know nothing of autumn, Pauline?

We are in our autumn years
and I say this without melancholy.

And we shall wed in autumn.

(Friends) Oh!

Autumn, of gold and rain,
is a wise season of good counsel.

It's also a fine season
for gastronomy.

An autumn rose
is more exquisite than another.

(Friends) Aw.

In autumn,

the grape harvests bring cool winds,
game and good cheer.

You have chestnuts, artichokes,
green grapes and pears.

And though quails,
warblers and corncrakes depart,

the woodpigeon,
woodcock and duck arrive…

… from the other end of the world
to whet our appetite.

Meanwhile,
the sea recovers from the fright

caused by the summer heat.

In Normandy,
apples are harvested with sticks

to embellish
and vary our sweet courses.

In autumn, one dines by candlelight,

better and longer,
with greater pleasure and joy.

(Friend) That's true!

Ducks and wild geese
travel from north to south.

Autumn is the transition
from the frugal joys of summer

to the solid pleasures of winter.

Eugénie, let us wed in autumn…

… and welcome
winter's pleasures together.

(All) Bravo!

(Man) Bravo!

(Eugénie) The guests were pleased,
I think.

(Dodin) We are fortunate
to have such enjoyable friends.

(Birds singing)

(Eugénie) So, you say
we're in our autumn years.

Speak for yourself.

(Dodin laughs)

I'm in the summer of my life.

And when I leave,
it will still be summer.

I love summer.

Don't you?

(Dodin) I like all seasons.

The first cool drops of rain,
the first snowflakes,

the first chimney fires,
the first buds.

These first things
that come back each year delight me.

But the summer sun…

(Eugénie sighs deeply)

I love the burning sensation.

I need that sensation

inside my body.

Like the embers I handle each day.

(Dodin) I understand.

(Cuckoo sings)

(Wind rustling)

Come in.

This is now your room too.

(Dodin clears his throat)

So…

Here we go.

The menu for His Royal Highness
the Crown Prince of Eurasia.

Dainties before the soup.

Eugénie Chatagne's soup.

(Eugénie) Mm.

Brillat—Savarin's fritters.

Dodin's pot—au—feu.

Soubise purée.

Dessert.

White wines of the slopes of Dézaley
and Château—Grillet.

Red wines of Châteauneuf—du—Pape,
Séguret and Chambolle.

There.

(Church bell ringing in distance)

—And that's all?
—Yes.

(Exhaling) Mm…

It's…

It's… How should I put this?

I hesitate between the words

"hazardous"

and "audacious."

(Dodin chuckles)

Choose "audacious."

Such a meagre menu
would hardly comprise

the first course
of the prince's ordinary meals.

And…

… there's the pot—au—feu.

I know what you think.

These three vulgar words are inglorious
and scented with grease.

But boiled beef and vegetables

is so French.

It has survived the centuries
and nourished many families.

Thus, I take up the challenge

to marvel the prince
with my own personal pot—au—feu.

With your help, of course.

Thank you.

(Eugénie) Hm.

It doesn't frighten me.

And you?

Do you sense me wavering?

—Yes.
—Why would I be afraid?

Eugénie?

Take me in your arms.

Eugénie?

What's wrong? Violette!

You agree, dear colleague,

that medicine
is not an exact science.

Come now, this is absurd.

You're not here to define medicine!

Yet, it's useful.

It explains
why we don't know certain things

in the actual state of our science.

(Dodin) So, you don't know what's wrong
with Eugénie? You know nothing!

(Doctor) No, we don't know.

We don't know
if it's serious or not,

or how it might evolve.

It's highly possible
that it does not evolve at all.

Her fainting spells
might disappear like they came.

(Rabaz) Let's hope so.

(Dodin) Yes, let's hope.

—How do you feel?
—Fine.

Eugénie,
I'm sorry but you are not fine.

Only hours ago,
you fainted in my arms.

I'm worried. Do you understand?

I'm sorry I scared you.

But… only an hour later,
I felt fine.

Thank you for coming all this way

to give our friend Dr Rabaz
a second opinion.

The two of you agree
I'm perfectly well.

It's even
rather embarrassing for me.

I knew that when you arrived,

you'd find a healthy woman.

—(Whispering) Rabaz, say something.
—What more can I say?

This is the best moment of the day.

(Dodin sighs)

(Dodin sighs)

Thank you.

(Eugénie chuckles)

I know I was unreasonably anxious.

Right now…

… I'm reassured that you're well.

(Buzzing)

Some of my nights you know,

because you share them with me.

But the other nights…

Would you like to know about them?

More than anything.

The nights when my door
remains open for you

are numerous.

Not as much as I'd like.

The ones when it's locked
are numerous too.

—Far too numerous.
—(Chuckling)

There are also many nights when…

… lying in my bed, I imagine you

walking from your room to mine.

—Noiselessly.
—My heart pounding each time.

Something extraordinary
happened twice.

What was that?

I imagined you
quietly coming out of your room.

I saw you
walk up the flight of stairs,

turn right and go down the hallway.

Then you took the service stairs
up to my floor.

A few more steps
and you reached my door.

At last, you rested
your hand upon the handle.

Twice.

Only twice… during all these years,

the very moment
I imagined you opening my door…

… it really opened.

(Dodin chuckles)

(Crying softly)

(Sniffles)

Violette?

Violette.

It's Eugénie.

Can you go see?

(Violette crying quietly)

You don't want to eat?

I can make you something simple.

(Dodin) Thank you, I'm fine.

(Dodin grunts softly)

You haven't eaten in two days.
It's not reasonable.

(Dodin inhales deeply)

(Exhales)

Could you ask Louis
to remove these things?

I don't need you anymore.

(Dodin) I had a strange dream
a while back.

I dreamt
I was humanity's first cook.

(Magot) When you say "first",
do you mean the "best"?

Or the first male cook?

I told Eugénie my dream,
like I told you.

But I realise now…

… she must not have really understood
what I wanted to say.

It's stupid,
I should have been more…

I should've paid attention,
made sure there was no misunderstanding.

(Grimaud) I'm sure she knew
exactly what you wanted to say.

To make dishes
as they appeared in your mind,

Eugénie needed exceptional intuition

and a perfect understanding
of the man you are.

Let's give Dodin our suggestions.

We'll see.

Yes.

We can't just do nothing.

I have faith in this list of cooks.

Does Dodin have faith?

One thing we never said enough…

… Eugénie was
a very beautiful woman.

—Hm.
—Hm.

The question is,

who will talk to Dodin?

Not me, in any case.

(Bird quacking outside)

I might have an idea.

We know what Dodin
eats for breakfast.

(Cockerel crowing outside)

(Sniffles)

Eugénie?

What's that?

(Clattering)

What's going on?

Violette?

Who are you?

Who said you could wear that apron?

(Violette) Sir.

Take it off at once.

Take it off!

Go.

Go!

Go, I said!

Why did you…?

What came over you, Violette?

We apologise.

It was my idea. It was stupid.

(Dog barking in distance)

Speak of it no more.

We've drawn up a list of cooks.

No!

Sir.

Gentlemen.

(Dodin) Ma'am. Sir.

Forgive us for coming unannounced.

No harm done, ma'am.

Please, have a seat.

How is Pauline?

Actually,
that's why we came to see you.

She's very unhappy.

Ever since Eugénie's death…

… she asks if she can still be
your apprentice?

(Dodin sighs)

(Dodin) Without a qualified cook…

… it would be impossible.

We understand
and we've explained the situation, but…

… she seems
unwilling to forget your proposal.

It's beyond me.

Very well, we understand.

Thank you for hearing us out.

Pauline…

Despite her young age,

Pauline is endowed
with a willpower that astounds us.

This is not a whim,
rather true determination.

Forgive me for asking you this…

Would you be willing
to explain your reasons to her in person?

Of course.

I'll speak to her.

Thank you.

(Mother) Thank you very much.
Gentlemen.

Mr Dodin.

(Dog barking)

Here is a list of candidates…

… that we drew up together.

(Bird singing)

(Woodpecker pecking)

Fillet your sole, remove the skin

and cut the fillets
into equal—sized pieces.

Trim them.

Meanwhile,
melt butter in a large skillet.

Sprinkle the fillets with salt.

Baste them
with a bit of melted butter.

When it's time,
put them on the stove.

When one side is firm,
turn them over.

Once cooked, dry them
and set them in a ring on a dish.

Pour maître d'hôtel sauce
over the fillets

to which you have added
reduced velouté

and extra lemon.

Very well, sir.

(Swifts chirping outside)

Thank you, miss, you may leave.

Very well, sir.

Here, taste.

Thank you.

Perfectly cooked.

—Your veal fricandeau.
—(Dodin) Thank you.

(Door shuts)

This very complex soup

has singular old—fashioned charm.

It must have one flavour,

but each part of this flavour

must keep its own personal
and natural quality.

Broadly speaking, it should be
reminiscent of a sonata's development,

where each theme retains its own life
and individual flavour

within the blended
power and harmony of the whole.

Here's the recipe.
Please read it carefully.

Eugénie could make this soup?

Yes, of course. Very well, in fact.

It was named after her.

I'm sorry,
I'm not capable of making this soup.

But if you think
I could learn it from you…

… please let me know.

Goodbye, sir.

How are the onions doing? Show me.

You can take them off the stove.

Start sautéing the mushrooms.

Salt and pepper.

(Sizzling)

Now add bacon and butter.

I'm coming.

Pastry dough
makes the pot airtight

and prevents the aromas
from escaping.

When the dough is cooked,
the pot is sealed.

Then we take it out of the oven

and cook it gently
over a low flame.

(Knocking on door)

(Knocking louder)

Pauline, wake up.

We're going to make a pot—au—feu.

Pauline, wake up.

(Groans softly)

(Sighs)

Put this on the stove.

That's good.

Help me.

(Church bell ringing in distance)

Taste the marrow.

Well? You like it?

No, you don't.

It's normal, you're too young.

(Sighs)

Bone marrow…

… is very complex.

It takes culture and a good memory
to shape one's taste.

This is what marrow must taste like.

Remember it.

—Yes, sir.
—Good.

(Sizzling)

(Pigeon cooing outside)

There.

Skimming spoon.

Thank you.

Just wet your lips.

It's good.

It makes the meat taste even better.

Chambolle Musigny.

It has everything.
Class, elegance, pureness.

A long finish.

And an extraordinary bouquet.

It's the pinnacle of Burgundys.

The epitome of grace.

And the favourite wine of Eugénie.

The food we made is very good.

But it's like an outline
or a sketch.

Twenty years.

We worked together
for over 20 years.

We cooked every day.

I read a recipe
and she worked magic on the stove.

I miss her.

When she spoke to me…

… I watched her mouth and her eyes
as intensely as I listened.

But now…

… it's over.

I think of her every second.

Forgive me for bursting in.

I'd better come back later.

Grimaud!

Grimaud!

Actually, it can't wait.

Then come in.

I was having lunch
at an acquaintance's home.

After a consommé
of sturgeon bone marrow…

Dazzling!

This dish appeared.

I quickly came here…

… to have you taste it.

Mm. Sea bream.

Perfectly cooked,

a long time over low heat
to respect the fish.

Sweetbreads sautéed in butter…

With foie gras?

I've never seen that.

I'd never paired them together.

Morel mushrooms…

… are the springtime.

Simmered in a bit of cream with…

… a hint of coffee that goes well.

The blend of sweetbreads and celeriac
is muted, subdued,

not explosive and very enveloping.

The cucumber,

intentionally left raw
for its tonus…

… and the lemon's note of acidity
bring freshness to this construction.

With the fish, it's another story.

The sweetbreads
act as a condiment for the fish,

which retains its natural savour

with these
perfectly—cooked vegetables.

A fine encounter of earth and sea

that praises the beauty of the land.

Grimaud, this is admirable.

Her name is Adèle Pidou.

Let's go see her.

—Have we found her?
—I believe so.

(Birds chirping outside)

Pauline, what are you doing?
We're waiting for you.

(Woodpecker pecking)

(Birds chirping)

(Pigeons cooing)

(Eugénie) The guests were pleased,
I think.

(Dodin) Yes.

We are fortunate
to have such enjoyable friends.

(Eugénie) So, you say
we 're in our autumn years.

(Chuckling) Speak for yourself.
I'm in the summer of my life.

And when I leave,
it will still be summer.

I love summer.

—Don't you?
—(Dodin) I like all seasons.

The first cool drops of rain,

the first snowflakes,

the first chimney fires,

the first buds.

These first things
that come back each year delight me.

(Eugénie) But the summer sun…

I love the burning sensation
in my body.

Like the embers I handle each day.

(Dodin) I understand.

(Birds chirping)

We've lived under the same roof
for over 20 years.

How have you kept your constancy
and perseverance with me?

St. Augustin said…

… happiness…

… is continuing to desire
what we already have.

But you, have I ever had you?

May I ask you a question?

It's very important for me.

Am I your cook or…

… am I your wife?

My cook.

Thank you.

(Melancholic instrumental music)

(Birds chirping)

(Melancholic music continues)